


The Hotel Incident

by sarah_x



Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-10 23:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_x/pseuds/sarah_x
Summary: After a botched heist, Gambit and Fantomex blow off some steam.





	The Hotel Incident

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like the way this turned out, especially the sex, but hopefully you can get some enjoyment from it. Also I'm new to X-Men comics so if the characterizations are off, I apologize.

Remy Lebeau had just sat down when he heard movement outside his hotel door. The visitor had enough time for a few fast knocks before Remy was on his feet, striding towards the door in a fit of anger, knowing exactly who was on the other side. Once the door had been thrown open, he grabbed a fistful of white and black fabric and yanked the visitor inside.

Remy slammed Fantomex against the wall of the hotel room, the man’s masked head catching the edge of a picture frame. Fantomex was around Remy’s height and build but Remy was all adrenaline from the failed heist meaning he could hold Fantomex fast against the wall and even hoist the man up a little. “You want me dead, _mon ami?_ There are better ways to do it than a security guard’s gun.”

After a moment of recovering from the shock of Remy’s sudden assault, Fantomex said, “An honest mistake,” Remy felt something cold jab into his side. He glimpsed down, saw the gun barrel pressed into torso. “Now kindly take your hands off me.”

Remy glared back at Fantomex and considered charging the weapon. After a few seconds of internal debate, he decided against it. There were too many variables. For one, it didn’t help that he was already half-naked, having stripped down to his underwear to check for gunshot wounds. He’d come away with some minor scratches down his back from the window exit.

“You’re alive, are you not?” Fantomex remarked as Remy let him drop. The man wasn’t worth the hassle.

“No thanks to you.”

Remy returned to his perch on the edge of the bed. There was a bowl of reddening water on a dresser beside the bed. He grabbed a cloth that was next to the bowl and continued cleaning the wounds on his back. He’d managed to pull most of the glass out on his own but some fragments were still lodged in his skin. He was hoping running the cloth over his skin would dislodge the rest of it.

Fantomex was leant up against the wall near the door, foot against the plaster, arms crossed over his chest. Now that the situation seemed to have calmed, Fantomex eyed Remy strangely. He didn’t speak for a moment. He was observing Remy’s movements and trying to appear casual but his posture screamed defensive. He had been caught off guard.

“You know me,” Fantomex finally chirped, his voice high and jovial, “My fingers wander, as does my mind-”

Remy smiled, “As do your eyes.”

Fantomex averted his gaze and Remy knew he’d got him. “You like what you see, _mon chéri_?”

“ _Comme si_ _!_ ” Fantomex replied, rolling his eyes and pushing up off the wall, “You think I would be interested in a common thief, much less one who appears incapable of tending to a few cuts?” Remy ignored Fantomex’s jab and was moving to rinse the cloth when a gloved hand caught his wrist. It wasn’t a tight, painful grip but it made him pause. He glanced up at Fantomex and quirked a brow. Fantomex was standing over him with a surprisingly earnest look in his eyes. He almost looked cartoonish. “Let me.”

“No.”

“I’m not going to stab you in the back, _mon ami,_ ” Fantomex said. “If I had anything nefarious planned you would know by now. Let me help. You won’t be able to treat all of it yourself.”

Fantomex let go of his wrist and hovered expectantly, waiting for Remy to let him know it was okay. He stared at Fantomex suspiciously. Fantomex might have just been waiting to show his hand. Then again, Remy wasn’t overly keen on the idea of sleeping on glass shards.

Reluctantly, he gave the man a small nod and Fantomex shed his white duster coat, then his gloves. Remy shifted on the edge of the bed so the other man could sit behind him. Almost as soon as he’d sat down, Fantomex was already pulling out bits of glass Remy had missed. Fantomex braced his free hand on Remy’s shoulder and rubbed circles against Remy’s skin with his thumb, a soothing pattern that helped distract from the twinges of pain and soreness.

They’d never done this. Remy couldn’t remember a time when Fantomex had touched him with comfort and not violence. He’d fought him once in the Inhuman palace, a second time when he’d sided with Magneto and the others. Fantomex had almost killed him, knocked his jaw out of place only to beat the shit out of him right after he’d reset it. _Hell,_ Fantomex had almost got him killed again _tonight_. Yet Fantomex kept stroking that pattern into his back, even after the cuts had been cleaned and the bandages applied. His skin was soft, not the callous hands of a fighter as Remy had expected, and glowed with warmth. It was almost inviting.

Fantomex’s voice came from far too close, a whisper he stumbled over himself to say, “I came here because…because… I wanted to… I never intended for that guard to see past the illusion… I suppose, what I’m trying to say is-”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Remy covered Fantomex’s hand with his, stilling the other man momentarily. “I forgive you.”

Fantomex didn’t speak and Remy was turned away from him, unable to read his expression. Fantomex’s thumb ceased tracing circles into his back and moved to Remy’s fingers to do the same for a few seconds. Then his hand slipped out and he was already moving across the room, placing the cloth back down and gathering up the white duster.

“All better,” Fantomex hummed, voice sweet, like he was speaking to a child who’d fallen over, “Until next time, _mon ami._ ”

“Wait,” Remy said, rising off the bed and putting himself between Fantomex and the door. “Where are you going? We’re wanted men.”

“Best they only catch one of us, then,” Fantomex replied with a wink, but made no move for the exit. He stared at Remy like he was waiting for something, “Unless… unless you would like me to stay.”

Neither of them spoke. Remy’s eyes narrowed. Thieves were slow to trust, especially when it came to other thieves. He scanned the other man for hints of deception: body language, posture, whatever summation of a facial expression he could see beyond the white mask. He found nothing except patient blue eyes staring back at him.

Sighing, Remy closed the space between them. Most men had these two options at this point: size up to him, give off a macho display of aggression that misread the obvious intent of the situation, or take a step back, usually with a scowl. Fantomex did neither. He let Remy lean into his space, eyes hooded, expectant.

Fantomex lifted the white mask to the bridge of his nose but no further _._ Their lips met and Fantomex tensed. Remy let a hand rest on Fantomex’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. He broke away from the kiss, tickled the man’s ear with a long, slow, “ _Relax_.” Fantomex said nothing, but the other man’s hands wrapped around Remy’s back, pulling Remy flush against him, suggesting he’d taken the words into consideration. Fantomex’s lips moved from Remy’s, breathing heavily as he kissed lines down Remy’s throat. Remy let out a moan and could feel Fantomex smirking against his skin.

They fell back onto the bed without even realizing they’d crossed the room. Fantomex was a heavy, hot weight on top of him. His knee accidentally connected with Remy’s crotch and he let out a yelp of pain. The other man jerked back, “Sorry!”

Remy wiped a few tears from his eyes with a laugh and said, “You’re by no means the first to do that _, cheri_.”

Fantomex moved his legs so his knees were on either side of Remy’s hips, hands planted at the side of his head. Their lips met again, Remy’s tongue sliding across his teeth, Fantomex’s hand tangled in his brown hair. The other man bit Remy’s bottom lip and tugged at it as he broke the kiss. When Fantomex let go he was panting. A hand cupped his face, stroking Remy’s cheek this time. Fantomex’s eyes were tender but there was a hesitation that Remy had noticed earlier when he’d first kissed him.

“Are you sure this is what you want? _”_ Remy asked. “Always time to say no.”

“Louvre jewels would have been a fine prize,” Fantomex hummed, pausing to nip at his ear. “But getting you on your back was worth missing out on a few dusty heirlooms.”

Fantomex meandered down Remy’s body, leaving small kisses down his chest, then his stomach, then his navel. Everything about the way Fantomex moved was slow and measured now. The man paused when he spotted Remy’s obvious bulge. Fantomex glanced back up at Remy now from his spot between the man’s legs with the most self-satisfied grin Remy had ever seen. His face became less kissable, more kickable.

“Pleased with yourself?”

“Most definitely,” Fantomex’s smile grew into a wicked grin and he grabbed Remy’s cock underneath the fabric, giving it a tight squeeze. Remy gasped and trembled underneath Fantomex’s touch, a sensation he tried to suppress, but to little effect. Fantomex’s fingers slipped beneath the elastic of Remy’s underwear but stayed there as Fantomex rose back up the bed to whisper into Remy’s ear, “Tell me how much you want it.”

Remy grabbed Fantomex’s neck, pulling the other man against his lips and kissing him. He moved a hand along Fantomex, humming with appreciation as his felt along the hard muscle of the man’s abdomen. He did love a broad man. When his hand found Fantomex’s groin, he decided to give the thief a taste of his own medicine. The touch made Fantomex’s body jump and he jolted out of the kiss with a heavy, surprised gasp. Remy’s hand came to stop grasping Fantomex’s ass.

“I want it,” Remy finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I want _you._ ”

Fantomex was smiling again but there was no arrogance or mockery in it anymore. He nodded, gave Remy a kiss that just missed his lips and pulled his briefs off in one fluid movement. Fantomex reached around and unzipped his suit, shrugging it off and discarding it somewhere on the floor. The white mask, still bunched up at the bridge of his nose, didn’t leave with the rest of his outfit. Remy had an urge to pull it off and fist the hair beneath, but Fantomex was a man who relied on his secrets. Doing something so drastic would scare the other man off.

Remy was surprised by how scarred up he was. It was easy to forget Fantomex had been a product of the vile Weapon Plus program, a sister of Weapon X. On top of whatever torture had occurred there, his skin was a marked map of a lifetime of brawls and gunfights. Remy had his fair share of scars and bruises, the cuts of his back adding to the collection, but he was nowhere near as bad as Fantomex. He traced the outline of a particularly deep, jagged scar on the man’s chest. He knew undoubtedly that it was a souvenir from Fantomex’s death, when his heart had been ripped from his chest by the Skinless Man. Fantomex noticed his wandering hand. Fantomex took a hold of his hand, kissed it and then pinned it to the bed, lacing their fingers together.

Fantomex pressed their foreheads against each other as he thrust his hips into Remy’s, eliciting another soft gasp. His hands moved to either side of Remy’s face. The man had his eyes shut, as if in deep thought, before he said, “No more touching, _cheri_. Just stay here, like this, and let me work.”

The way Fantomex spoke made the words appear more like a question than a command. He opened his eyes then, searching Remy’s face for permission to go any further. Remy smiled, letting his arms fall back loosely around his head. “If it makes you feel like a big, strong man, _cheri,_ who am I to argue with that?”

Fantomex shook his head but a laugh fell from his lips, “Feeling clever are we? Maybe I’ll just leave you here.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Remy replied, “The Louvre was a miss; this might be the only-”

Remy’s words were lost in a strangled yelp. Fantomex had fixed his lips around the head of Remy’s cock, tongue sliding slowly across his slit. He tried to form words but they came out as a string of nonsensical noises and moans. Fantomex’s mouth moved up and down his shaft leisurely, the man looking at him all the while. Nothing was going to be easy with him. Remy’s hands clutched the bed sheets, resting the urge. Fantomex was still watching him and he could see the smug smile returning.

The other man got his hand involved, pumping it up and down Remy’s shaft while his mouth remained on the head, tongue circling lazily. Remy could feel himself getting close. The preamble had got him hard and now he had to trust Fantomex to get him off.

As always, that trust was misplaced. Fantomex slid off his dick with a wet pop and propped his chin on his hand, staring at the erection with sudden disinterest, “Humph, this is more work than I anticipated.”

“W-what are you doing?” Remy asked breathlessly.

“Maybe it would be best to leave you like this,” Fantomex said. Fantomex flicked at Remy’s cock with his fingers and Remy’s entire body trembled. “I’m enjoying the view.”

“You _ass_!” Remy said, voice high and strained. “Please, I’m so _close_. Please.”

Fantomex pressed a kiss against the inside of Remy’s thigh and murmured into his skin, “Say my name, _cheri_.”

“Fantomex…” Remy whispered.

“Not Fantomex,” He replied, continuing to kiss and suck at Remy’s thigh. “You know my name.”

Remy hesitated, thoughts clouded by the pleasure of the moment, but after a few moments spent searching his overwhelmed brain, he finally sighed, _“_ Jean-Phillipe. _Please._ ”

“Good enough.”

Fantomex began again in earnest. Any of that previous measured control disappeared. He was sloppy and wet, moving his head rapidly and pumping the shaft into his mouth. Remy tried to thrust his hips upwards but Fantomex wrapped his arms around his thighs, holding him down against the bed.

He came into Fantomex’s mouth with a list of breathless expletives. Fantomex swallowed and wiped at the side of his mouth with his thumb as if it was nothing. He crawled back up Remy’s limp form, planting a lazy kiss on his lips before smirking over him. “Don’t suppose you planned for this kind of exchange, hmm, _mon ami?_ ”

Remy caught on quickly and, though he was exhausted from his orgasm and the events of the day, he jerked his head in the direction of a chair at the far end of the room. “In the duffel bag.”

Fantomex pushed himself off of the bed, sweating gleaning on his body, and made his way over to the chair.  He unzipped the grey duffel bag and stood over it for a few moments, examining its contents. After what seemed like an eternity, Fantomex turned to Remy with a shit-eating grin, a fuzzy handcuff dangling off his finger. “Naughty, naughty.”

Remy flushed. He’d forgotten about that particular item. “That’s ‘a… not what I had in mind.”

“Oh, I know,” Fantomex said. “I just wanted to see the look on your face.”

He put the handcuffs back and found the real prizes, a condom and a bottle of lube. Fantomex strolled back over to the bed, finally shedding his own underwear and rolling the condom onto his cock. He stroked himself a few times, letting in deep ragged breathes, trying not to cum too early.

Remy propped himself up on his elbows and leaned forward, almost reaching out for the other man, “You don’t want me to-?”

“No,” Fantomex insisted. “This will be far sweeter. Turn over.”

Remy nodded, turning over and getting on his hands and knees. He spread his legs, letting Fantomex fit comfortably between. This part had always made him nervous. He could charm the pants off most people and had seen his fair share of skin and sweat. There was something about having someone inside him, or being inside someone for that matter, that didn’t always sit well with him. Maybe because it was too intimate, made him feel too attached to someone, left him vulnerable.

Fantomex seemingly sensed his discomfort and he felt a hand on his back again, same small circles etched into his skin and Remy’s own words thrown back at him, “Relax…”

“Easy for you ‘ta say.”

“You could always tell me no,” Fantomex said, leaning over Remy, lips tickling his ear, “Not that any woman or man ever has.”

“It’s unhealthy to live inside your own fantasies, Jean-Philippe–ah!”

Cold, wet lube dripped over his skin and Fantomex grinned, slipping a finger inside of him. His teeth gritted at the awkward sensation but, as Fantomex worked in and out of him, the tension from his body slipped away, welcoming the other man’s touch.

Just as Remy was starting to enjoy the contact, Fantomex stopped. Typical. Fantomex lined himself up and leaned over Remy once again, chest pressed to his back, pushing brown hair away to kiss the back of his neck. “Ready?”

Fantomex pushed inside of him and Remy had to try not to yell which would have been far too much of an ego boost for him. Remy suspected the other man was eager to get himself off. Though Remy would have been fine to just fall asleep right then and there, he felt he owed it to Fantomex to let him have his fun.

Fantomex started fucking him at first, slow and leisurely, taking his time. Despite himself, Remy could feel himself getting turned on again, maybe not with the same zeal as before but he couldn’t help reacting to Fantomex’s presence. Fantomex worked his hips, pulling him back and forth against his cock. It was nothing special for Remy but judging by the appreciative sounds singing from Fantomex’s throat, he was getting what he wanted.

“Fuck!” Fantomex grunted, pounding harder and harder. “Oooh! I-I’m gunna-!”

Fantomex let out a noise that had Remy honest to god flinching. He pulled out and collapsed back onto the bed and Remy burst out laughing.

The man was panting hard and took a few seconds to compose himself. He turned to Remy with a frown forming on his flushed face. “What’s so funny?”

“You sounded like a dying cat!”

Fantomex grabbed one of the pillows and flung it at Remy’s head. He caught it with ease, still shaking with laughter, and propped the pillow behind his back, leaning up against the headboard and slipping under the sheets. Fantomex crawled under next to him, choosing to lie down, still panting.

“So that’s what all the fuss is about,” Fantomex muttered, almost to himself. “Consider me satisfied.”

Remy pretended to look shocked. “A compliment? From you? Say it’s not so, _mon ami._ ”

Fantomex folded his hands behind his head and stared ahead at the ceiling, “I said satisfied, not impressed. You’ll have to work harder for that next time.”

Remy caught the “next time” and Fantomex knew he had, even if he refused to look at him. It hung between them for a while. Then Remy let out a yawn, turning back to Fantomex and saying, “I need a drink. Did you bring any-?”

Fantomex’s eyes were shut and his mouth was open slightly, light snores drifting out.

Remy rolled his eyes but could feel tiredness taking hold of him, too. Tufts of hair peaked out from underneath Fantomex’s sweat-soaked white mask and, for a moment, Remy considered taking it off.

Instead, he planted a kiss on the man’s cheek and went to sleep.

*

When Remy woke the next morning, he got that jarring confusion most people feel when they wake up in a strange place and can’t immediately remember where they were. Then he glanced to the side of the bed, saw the bowl of bloody water and sodden cloth and remembered the previous night. The Louvre. Running from the police.

Fantomex.

Who was, coincidentally, nowhere to be found.

Beside the dresser was his cellphone and a note. All the note said was, “Naughty, naughty.” Still half-asleep, Remy swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbed at the bridge of his nose and searched for his clothes. After feeling around the floor and coming up empty, he gave it a proper look, first the floor then under the bed. Fantomex’s clothes were gone too.

“No…”

Remy glanced to the chair in the corner that housed the duffel bag. Surprise, surprise, the bag had vanished. Then he glanced back down at the note in his hand. Last night, when Fantomex had searched the bag-

The Regent Diamond. He’d managed to snatch it before the heist went sideways and forgotten all about it… and he’d neglected to tell Fantomex.

After a thorough search of the hotel room, it was clear that all that remained was the cellphone and a note.

“That son of a bitch.”

After thinking through his options, he decided to swallow his pride and reach out to his friends. The worst they could do was make fun of him. Plus, hitching a ride in the Blackbird sounded like a better option than finding a replacement forged passport.

He tried Kitty’s personal number and when she didn’t pick up, the school line. After ringing for what felt like a lifetime, a young male voice answered from the other end of the phone, “Uh, hello?”

“Is Headmistress Pryde there?”

There was a crashing sound in the background, followed by people arguing. Otherwise known as Wednesday at the X-Mansion. “Who, umm, who is this… sir?”

“Remy Lebeau,” He replied. “And who are you?”

“Professor?!” The kid shouted, loud enough Remy had to pull the receiver away from his ear, “Why didn’t you just say so? It’s Trevor! Uh, Eye-Boy.”

Remy felt a little bit of guilt that he couldn’t remember who the student was, “Are there any other teachers there, Trevor? Jubilee? Chamber?”

“They’re dealing with a, uh, an _incident_ , right now,” As if on cue, Remy heard gunshots down the other end of the phone, “They say they’ve got it under control. The headmistress asked me to mind the phone.”

Remy let out a long sigh, “Okay. Stay safe. When the headmistress has time, tell her I’m texting her my co-ordinates and ask her to bring the Blackbird.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then the boy spoke again, voice dropping to a whisper, “Are you okay, Professor? You don’t need me to get some students together and-”

That was the _last_ thing Remy needed. “I’m fine, _mon ami_. Just pass on the message. Please.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Remy was about to hang up when he added quickly, “And tell her to bring some clothes.”

He heard the boy on the other end chirp, “…Clothes?” in confusion but hung up before any awkward realization could set in.

Remy glanced around the room one last time, making sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him, a real possibility when it came to Fantomex.

“That son of a bitch.” Remy muttered again but he was smiling despite himself, shaking his head fondly.

If nothing else, the man was a damn good thief.  


End file.
